


A five-letter word

by Em_Jaye



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Laura Barton, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Minor Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 02:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: It's Made-Up Valentine's Day. It should be special.





	A five-letter word

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story lifted from a fic from a long-ago fandom that I idea-bounced and helped a friend write a million years ago. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to steal it for Shieldshock purposes.  
> All permissions granted, no offenses taken, all rights reserved. (Or whatever.) 
> 
> Also, the beginning of this tale was inspired by story I read about how Richard Spencer tried to strangle his wife while beating the shit out of her while she was pregnant. I know he's been out of the spotlight for a little bit and people have stopped punching him in the face every time they see him. But I read that little tidbit and thought that maybe they should start up again. 
> 
> Anywhooo...
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve dropped down into a chair at the breakroom table with a sound that was half-sigh, half- _hurumph_ and swiped a hand over his face. He winced with the memory of the solid punch that had landed on his cheekbone earlier that morning. The source of his bad mood _and_ the reason he’d been stuck doing paperwork all day when he’d been planning on spending the day with Darcy.

 _Goddamn Nazis_ , he thought with a shake of his head. Like a fucking cockroach infestation—just when you thought you’d executed the last of them for their war crimes, up crops a whole new generation with slicker haircuts and verified fucking Twitter accounts.

Steve had not gone downtown to punch Richard Spencer in the face—although he _had_ and it had felt _really_ good. He’d gone in the hopes of keeping a lid on the inevitable explosion between Antifa and the MAGA hat-wearing pond scum that had been slowly gathering in front of the largest refugee center in the city. Despite the icy January temperatures, both groups and tensions had been building for days while they awaited yet another ruling on the latest in a long line of attempts at a refugee ban.

He hadn’t gone in Captain America capacity—another facet of the paperwork that had cramped his hand all afternoon—and Bucky and Sam had only been too easy to convince to come along. And it had started out as fairly average pair of protests. But then Spencer—in town, Steve had to assume, for some wife-beating, anti-humanitarian, piece-of-shit convention—had shown up with a news crew and that smug goddamn smirk and someone had thrown a bottle at him.

One bottle turned into two and then there was shoving. And punching. And any thoughts Steve, Sam, or Bucky had about keeping the peace quickly vanished when it became abundantly clear that one side of this debate was armed and the other was not.

And now there was a video of someone who looked hauntingly like Captain America calling Richard Spencer a Nazi Fuckwad right before punching him squarely in the jaw.

It was trending. Nearly 450,000 views in the first hour. Closing in on a million by noon. Expected to reach a billion by the end of the day.

If he wasn’t so pissed off—and didn’t feel so bad for the PR team—Steve would have been a little proud.

But.

He _was_ pissed off. Not just because of the paperwork. Or the bruised the cheekbone. Or the Nazis. He was pissed off because this unexpected PR nightmare had cost Darcy two extra hours of work and caused him to push back a dinner reservation twice and was coming dangerously close to missing it all together.

He checked his watch. She’d texted him only a few minutes before and asked him to meet her in the break room. Surprised, he’d agreed, wondering if she was going to suggest they cancel their Made-Up Valentine’s Day plans and stay home with pizza instead. He sighed again and sat back in his chair. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, he considered. Darcy was off to San Francisco and then to Japan with Pepper in the morning, effectively putting an entire country—and later, an ocean—between the two of them for three weeks and this day was the last chance they had to spend together.

 _It’ll be Made-Up Valentine’s Day,_ Darcy had said while she booked her travel a month ago. _And it’ll be better than the real thing—no crowds, no bullshit Cupids everywhere or chalky candy hearts. Valentine’s Day is a card company scam, anyway,_ she’d added thoughtfully while her fingers had flown over the keys of her laptop.

Steve remembered being distracted by those fingers and wondering how the ring he’d stashed on the top shelf of his locker was going to look if she agreed to wear it.

If he ever got up the nerve to ask her.

“Hey there, Rocky,” Darcy’s voice stole him from his thoughts and pulled his attention up from the abrasive heart pattern on the ridiculously long cloth draped over the table. It had been Laura’s idea to decorate the common areas for the holidays—even the lame, greeting card company kind like Valentine’s Day, apparently—and in an effort to spruce up the otherwise barren break room on the Communications floor had ordered a tablecloth for a table that sat eight. The break room was home to a table that barely sat four comfortably. She had laughed when she’d laid it out and mentioned she could cut it in half and make a dress for Lila with the leftovers. But that hadn’t happened yet.

Darcy was smiling as she crossed the room and dropped a light kiss on his lips. “How’s the face?”

Already feeling his bad mood disintegrating, Steve smiled up at her. “You tell me.”

She gingerly reached a hand to cup his chin and pretended to study him closely. “Criminally handsome as always,” she assessed as she straightened. “You goddamn troublemaker.”

He winced with guilt as Darcy kicked the floor-length tablecloth out of her way and pulled up the chair beside him. “I wasn’t _planning_ on—”

She held up a hand. “I have spun all I can spin today, Steve,” she reminded him, looking tired. “I will spin no more.” She let that hand drop onto the table.

Steve reached out and laced his fingers with hers. “You still up for a Made-Up Valentine’s Day date?” he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful. He didn’t care how they spent it—he just wanted to steal as much time with her as he could before she had to leave in the morning.

She sat up straighter, her bright blue eyes darted around the room before she was on her feet again and rummaging a nearby drawer. “Yes,” she said, as if remembering she hadn’t answered his question. “In fact,” she retrieved her quarry and returned to the table with a slim paperback book and a pen in hand. “I have a present for you.”

There was a sparkle in her eye that didn’t quite match the gift she was offering. Steve took it hesitantly and quirked an eyebrow at the title _A Big Book of Crosswords._ Not even _The Big Book of Crosswords,_  he noted. “Is this for me to practice while you’re away?” he asked; the corner of his lips twitched into a smile. “So that when you ask me for a seven-letter word for ‘Rubber from the Middle East’, I can do a little more than just stare at you blankly?”

“Oh,” she shook her head and sat back down, pulling her chair closer to his. “This isn’t your present,” she assured him. “This is a prop. Your present is…” Darcy paused and bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “Slightly more personal.”

More confused than before, Steve eyed her carefully. “Personal how?”

Her cheeks were pink, he noticed. A pleasant blush had blossomed quickly on her cheekbones as she dropped her gaze to where she’d joined their hands again. A lock of dark hair fell into her face. “Well, I was thinking,” she began slowly. “About what we talked about. Last week.”

Steve frowned. “We talked about a lot of things last week.”

She rolled her eyes, flustered. “Well, we only talked about a few of them in bed,” she reminded, giving him an eye. “Specifically when we were…” she cleared her throat. “Talking about things we’d be up for trying?”

Steve felt himself smile as the memory of that night returned swiftly. “Do you want me to tie you up again?” he asked, keeping his voice low, just in case anyone walked in. Even though they were definitely alone and she’d even closed the door behind her.

“No,” Darcy giggled before she stopped herself. “I mean, _yes_ , I do. But that’s not why I brought this up. I was thinking about something _else_ you said you’d always wanted to try.”

His forehead creased in thought. That had been a fun night; leaving him with memories of laughter and sweet shyness and the colorful silk scarves he’d used to tied Darcy’s hands to the headboard. What else had been on the menu? “The motorcycle thing?” he guessed, trying to remember if he’d voiced his desire to fuck her on the back of his bike or if that was one he’d kept to himself.

“No,” she repeated and stopped herself a second time. “Wait—motorcycle?” she shook her head. “Never mind. Sex in public, Steve,” she said, lifting her eyebrows, waiting for him to remember.

Which, he did. Of course. Because that _was_ something he’d always had in the back of his mind as a kind of bucket list item. More than once he’d wondered what they could get away with outside the soundproof walls of their apartment. Especially because his girl was a moaner—the thought of having to keep her quiet had always added an extra thrill to the idea. He felt himself grin again. “You…want to try it?” he asked, not quite believing his ears. “When we’re out tonight?”

Darcy wet her lips and shook her head as she pushed the pen across the table and tapped the book of crossword puzzles again. “I was thinking sooner rather than later,” she said, that wicked twinkle in her eye again. “Look busy.”

And before Steve could blink, she was gone. Slipped under the table without another word, leaving him staring at her empty chair in confusion. Later, when he thought about this moment, he’d have to blame the earlier blow to the head for not realizing what was going on until he felt her hands on his belt buckle. And then all he could muster was, “Jesus Christ…”

She shushed him from under the table and tugged gently at the back of his knees, forcing him to slouch down slightly. By the time she freed him from his pants he was already hard and ready and wondering if he’d fallen asleep waiting for her and was dreaming this. “Crossword!” Darcy reminded in a muffled voice that came from somewhere close enough to his cock for him to feel her breath warm against his skin.

He choked out a laugh. “You honestly think I’m going to be able to—”

“If somebody comes in here and you’re staring at your pants and we get caught, I am _never_ doing this again.” And then he felt her tongue on him, a long, slow lick from base to tip that crossed his eyes and drew all the air from his lungs. Was this _actually_ happening? Darcy Lewis was _really_ going to suck him off at _work_ and—Jesus Christ—had she said something about doing it again?

He fumbled for the book she’d given him and opened to a page in the middle . He stared blankly at a page of clues without anything jumping out at him. All his available attention was on the way she was delicately licking her way back down, her hand gently gripping what part of him she wasn’t currently teasing with her tongue. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to exhale slowly. He only had to _appear_ occupied, after all.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he might have heard her let out a soft moan before she took his head in her mouth and twirled her tongue around it. There was no question where the quick gasp came from, though; that was all him. It was followed a quick, sharp "ow!" when she pinched his hip and hissed for him to be quiet. Right, like he was going to be able to keep from gasping when she was – oh, sweet mother of God – sucking him in slowly, inch by inch past those gorgeous lips of hers. Just like that, just the way he liked.

Trying not to pant, trying not to gasp, trying to look totally normal, Steve let his eyes drop shut for just a moment to feel the wet heat of her mouth over him. She sucked her way back up, swirled her tongue over him again, and he swallowed hard to tamp down a moan. And then she began to bob, up and down, up and down, a steady rhythm with just enough suction and it was all he could do to not squirm.

And then the door swung open and Laura Barton bustled in with a cheery, “Hey, Steve! Happy Friday!”  as she headed for the refrigerator. Darcy froze; Steve fought his every instinct to panic.

“Hey, Laura,” he said, amazed that his voice sounded normal.

“No ‘Happy Friday’ to me?” Laura asked as she opened the fridge and removed a bottle of green juice. She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “I don’t know about you, but my weekend has taken its sweet time to get here.”

“Sorry,” he forced a smile and hoped he was at least passing for casual. “Happy Friday,” he corrected himself. “You and Clint have big plans this weekend?” he asked as—dear God—Darcy began to suck up and down over him again. Slowly, teasingly. With Laura ten feet away. Her fingers danced with feather-light touches at his base and too close to his balls for him to stay still. Steve clenched his jaw again and shifted so his foot pressed into her thigh. He wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to convey, but Darcy’s hand moved back to stroke over his thighs instead so she must have gotten the message.

Laura looked up from her phone and hit him with a puzzled look. “You okay?” she asked, tilted her head to one side. “You look a little…stressed.”

Darcy’s fingers dug into his leg.

He cleared his throat. “Oh, no,” Steve shook his head a little too quickly. “It’s this uh—crossword,” he held up the blank puzzle. “It’s a stumper.”

“Hmm,” Laura tucked her phone into her back pocket and nodded with understanding before the corner of her lips twitched into a cheeky grin.  “What’s the clue? A five-letter word for a workplace beejer?”

Darcy froze again and this time Steve really did panic. “What?”

Smooth, Rogers. Real fucking smooth.

Laura only giggled and Steve had to fight the urge to shove Darcy's head away as she crossed the small room to the table. “Cute shoes, Lewis,” she announced and Darcy immediately wrenched away from him and crashed her head against the table.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed as Laura giggled once more.

“I really didn't peg you for the type, Darcy,” she commented with a shake of her head. “I'm impressed. Just let me...” Laura adjusted the tablecloth a few inches toward herself and peered where the edge brushed the floor. “Okay, you're golden now.” Darcy squeaked something unintelligible and managed to crack her head against the table a second time in, Steve had to assume, either a scramble to get back to her feet or an attempt to burrow into the floor and disappear in shame. “No, no,” Laura said, still laughing. “You stay there. I didn't mean to interrupt. Don't worry,” she said, a twinkle in her eye as she shot Steve a grin. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“It is not!” Darcy insisted, her voice loud and clear this time.

“No, I promise,” she held up three fingers pressed together. “Girl Scout's honor,” she promised. “Besides, two of my kids were conceived on SHIELD-issued equipment,” she added with a wink. “Nobody appreciates a workplace get-down as much as I do. Carry on,” she said and gave Steve a little salute before she headed for the door. “Oh,” she stopped at the door and turned back with a frown. “But maybe hurry up, Darce. Bucky was looking for you earlier--something about that Japanese translator you were looking for?”

Steve felt the warmth of Darcy's forehead drop to his thigh. “Thank you,” she muttered meekly.

Laura nodded and pulled open the door for real this time. “Anytime,” she said, still smiling. “Happy Friday, Steve.”

And then, mercifully, she was gone and he was pretty sure he could feel Darcy's blush radiating against him from under the table. “Oh my _God,_ ” she moaned miserably. Steve slipped a hand under the table, seeking her out to thread his fingers into her hair.

“It could be worse,” Steve said, trying to be comforting as he mentally made a list of all the people who Laura _could_ have been and praising every deity in the heavens that she was none of them. “I think she was serious about her and Barton,” he added. He knew she was serious about her and Barton, in fact, because Barton gossiped like a seventh-grade girl on long missions.

"I never would have guessed."

"Well, they used to call her The Minx for a reason, I guess," he shrugged, though she couldn't see it.

"They used to call her  _The Minx?"_ Darcy asked in disbelief.

"When she was in the field," he added, remembering how his eyes had nearly bugged out of his head when he'd read that in her file.

"Laura was in the  _field_?"

“Full of surprises," he commented mildly. "Point is, I don't think she's going to tell anyone.”

Darcy let out a weak laugh. “She's still never going to let me live this down.”

“Probably not,” he conceded with a soft smile.

Silence settled around them for a moment, both of them still but for the soft, slow massage of Steve's hand in her hair and the idle way she was tracing her nails against his thigh. Steve cleared his throat again. “Darcy?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you going to...” he coughed again. “Finish?” Perhaps it was ungentlemanly to ask, but she'd put him in a position he hadn't expected. Still hard as goddamn steel and unless she was planning to finish what she started, he was going to have to dig up some Catholic guilt and think this thing down or take care of it himself. Neither felt particularly appealing.

Luckily, Steve got his answer in the form of a soft laugh against his skin and the welcome return of her tongue to the head of his cock. Darcy was nothing if not goal-oriented, after all, and she'd gone under that table with the aim of getting him off. Her lips and tongue slid against him in earnest, licking and sucking him just the way he liked, urging him closer and closer to the edge.

When one hand gripped him as the other came up to hold his thigh, Steve felt his breath hitch. He curled his fingers into her hair and swallowed hard. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed, ignoring the pinch she gave him this time to be quiet. “Just like that,” he urged softly as his heart began to race. “Fuck, you're amazing,” he added. Because no one was going to hear him and, honestly, if there was ever a time to say it....

She pulled back just a little, focusing on his head, flicking her tongue against the sensitive spot where it met his shaft over and over again, fluttering, sucking there, and God, he was almost – he was so – he was going to – _yes_! He bit his lip and began to spill into her mouth just as the door swung open again.

“Bucky!” Darcy froze as Bucky stopped in the doorway; surprised, Steve had to guess, by the way he'd just had his own name yelled at him from ten feet away. “Hey,” he attempted to cover weakly.

“Hey...” his best friend echoed slowly, a furrow of confusion on his face. Steve forced his eyes not to wander over to the tablecloth again while he prayed that Laura's adjustment had been enough to keep them hidden. “Have you seen Darcy? I patched the earpiece for her translation receiver.”

“I...uh...” he stammered as the last of his orgasm subsided. “Darcy?” He felt her head hit his thigh again and felt the way she was shaking her head back and forth with a sort of controlled vehemence. “Uh...yeah. She was with--” he coughed. “Pepper. Last I saw her.”

Bucky frowned and shook his head. “I just came from that direction,” he said. “No dice.”

Steve shrugged. “Have you tried her phone?” Darcy's nails dug painfully into his thighs a second before he realized what a horrible suggestion that was. Her phone was _always_ with her. Including right now. When she was under the table with a mouth full of his cock.

“I did,” Bucky reasoned, interrupting his downward spiral. “But I might as well try again...”

Darcy pushed her phone to the top of Steve's thigh just as Bucky's call connected and it started to vibrate. Steve let out a laugh that was _way_ too forced as he held it up. “Oh, wow. Long day. She _was_ here,” he said still motioning to the phone in his hand. “And she left her phone here. I'm sure she'll be back for it soon. I can...” he coughed. “I'll send her your way as soon as she comes back for it.”

Bucky put his phone back and nodded, still eyeing Steve warily. “Thanks,” he said before he narrowed his eyes slightly. “You okay?” he asked after an agonizing moment of studying Steve's face. “That shiner doesn't look too pretty.”

For a minute, Steve forgot that he'd been punched in the face that day and remembering sent a rush of relief for the easy excuse. “Oh, uh, yeah. Still feeling kind of off after what happened this morning.”

Bucky's nod was much more understanding this time and he offered a brief, sympathetic smile. “Put some ice on it,” he suggested before he grinned again. “Or ask Darcy if she feels like playing Florence Nightingale later on.”

He laughed shakily again and let out a heavy breath. “Oh, she's really...done enough lately.”

“Oh right,” Bucky nodded. “Big date night tonight. Think you're going to--”

“I don't know,” Steve cut him off hurriedly,grateful that Darcy could not see how the light glinted off Bucky's metal hand when he raised and wiggled his ring finger. “Hey, did you hear Barton was looking for you?” he lied to change the subject, hoping against hope that it would be enough to clear the room.

“Yeah,” Bucky surprised him with his answer. “Laura just told me. I'm heading there next.” he smiled again. “Have fun tonight, pal.”

“Thanks,” he said as Bucky pushed open the door again. Had they _actually_ gotten away with it? It almost seemed too good to be true and Steve had to wonder again if he wasn't dreaming. He felt Darcy sag against his leg in relief as the door clicked shut behind Bucky. “All clear,” he said, allowing himself to let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Jee. Zus. _Christ_." She scrambled out from under the table, flopping into her chair as she covered her eyes with both hands. "That was… we can't ever do that again. Not here. What was I thinking? I could've been fired!"

“Yeah,” Steve agreed while he reached back under the table to tuck himself back into his pants and zipped up. “But it was _really_ hot.”

She lifted a hand at that and peeked at him with one bashful blue eye. “Yeah?” she asked, giving him a smile that so sexy and adorable it should have been illegal.

He nodded and straightened up again, stretching out the knot that had formed in his back from how she’d had him slouching. “ _Oh_ yeah,” he assured her. “Although I could have done without coming in front of an audience.”

Darcy snorted and dropped her head into her arms on the table. “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure he’d walked in when you said that...”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “You just...what?” he asked around a laugh. “Thought I was fantasizing about Bucky while you were--”

She lifted her head and shrugged innocently. “Well I don’t know,” she said, her cheeks pink again. “It’s not like you could _see_ me,” she reminded. “I could’ve been anybody you wanted...”

She was all dirty jokes and relieved giggles now and Steve decided he’d never been more in love with her than at that moment. He leaned across the table and silenced her with a kiss. A slow, gentle kiss that turned anything else she was going to say into a hum of contentment as he brought his hand up to hold her cheek. “You’re the only one I want, Darcy,” he reminded when he pulled away and pinned his forehead to hers. “I’m only ever thinking about you.”

Darcy brushed her nose against his and bit back another shy smile. “I love you,” she said softly. “You goddamn troublemaker.”

Steve grinned when she sat back and started fixing her hair. “I’m pretty sure you could fight me for that title,” he reminded, pleased when she blushed again. “Seriously, though, go find Bucky before we have to lie anymore to get out of here.”

She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Fifteen mintutes,” she promised. “And we can still make our res.”

He nodded. “You sure you still want to go?”

Darcy flipped her hair back and away, laying to rest any evidence that he’d just had his hands in it. “Of course I do,” she insisted. “It’s Made Up Valentine’s Day. It’s gotta be special.”

He glanced at the table and the back to her. “This was...pretty special,” he admitted. “Not sure a dinner out is going to top that.”

She barked out a laugh and stopped at the door. “That isn’t just a prop, by the way,” she added with a nod to the crossword puzzle book that lay flipped over on the table. “You should check the cover. I’ll be right back.”

Steve waited until she’d left before he reached for the book and opened the front cover.

 _To my favorite puzzle,_ Darcy had written in her loopy, curling script. _Thanks for letting me get close enough to riddle you out--I hope it’s been as much fun for you as it has been for me. I love you._

_All yours,_

_Darcy_

He swallowed back a rush of emotion that took him by surprise and closed the cover of the book with the softness that her words deserved. He checked his watch again. The fifteen minutes Darcy had promised him were more than enough to make it to the locker room and back with time to spare.

He smiled at the thought of that diamond ring sparkling on Darcy’s finger the next time she filled out a crossword puzzle over breakfast. It was Made Up Valentine’s Day, after all, he reminded himself as he got to his feet.

It had to be special.

  


**Author's Note:**

> If you don't think Laura The Minx Barton is a sex kitten, I feel bad for you, son. Because I do. And it's great. 
> 
> \------
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Share the love on Tumblr @idontgettechnology and check out ishipitpod.com for more fanfic fun
> 
> *blows kisses*


End file.
